Knells Call
by Jessica Roberts
Summary: Sequel to Decisions & Revisions. Sara, Ian & Irons must face their new future. Uploaded again w/Epilogue because even I needed more closure...


Title: Knells Call  
Rating: PG-13  
Legal: I don't own 'em. I wish I did.  
Spoilers: Sequel to Decisions & Revisions. Sara, Ian & Irons must face their new future.  
  
My beta-reader is Donna, and I appreciate her help immensely. The remaining mistakes, therefore, are all my fault.

  
*****  
  
"Time flies, death urges, knells call, Heaven invites, Hell threatens."  
--Edward Young "Night Thoughts"  
  
*****  
  
"A little to your right," Sara said and winced.  
  
"Is that better?" Ian asked, shifting his position slightly.  
  
"Hmm? Yeah," she said, pushing away the strands of his hair that were tickling her cheek. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"  
  
"Yes," he said, his voice firm.  
  
"You have done this before, right?" she asked.  
  
"I've watched," he said hesitantly. "And I understand the basic mechanics of it."  
  
"All right," Sara said, sighing. "Just make it quick, OK?"  
  
"Not a problem."  
  
Sara closed her eyes as she felt Ian tense against her. With a sudden, sharp blossom of pain, he yanked her shoulder back into the socket. He let go of her, and she collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.  
  
"Ow," she said when she got her breath back. "That really hurt."  
  
"I've told you before that learning to fall properly is the best way to save yourself from pain," he answered, shrugging.  
  
"Gee, thanks," she said, standing up and brushing off her jeans. "It's nice to know you care." She looked at the three young men lying in various states of unconsciousness in the alley. "Bet they won't be mugging anyone else any time soon."  
  
"No," he said, nudging one of them with his boot. "I don't think so." He picked up the paper bag he had dropped earlier, then asked, "Do you want to call it in?"  
  
"Just leave them," she said. "They're all breathing. Maybe they can spread the word around the neighborhood to leave us alone." She gingerly moved her shoulder and grimaced at the pain. "Let's just go home so I can get some ice on this."  
  
They made their way through the alley and down the next street, taking another of Ian's circuitous ways back to the apartment they'd rented. It wasn't much, just a dingy loft in one of the more questionable parts of town. They'd taken it over from the remnants of Ian's Black Dragons unit who had, luckily, left it with another month of rent paid. That, along with the really crappy neighborhood, was the only reason they'd been able to afford it. They'd left most of Sara's stuff in her old apartment, except what they had been able to carry in one late-night raid. As far as they could tell, no one knew yet where they were living.  
  
Even though Irons had declared a truce via a very bruised and pissed off Captain Dante, Ian had thought it best to keep the new place a secret. He didn't trust Dante, let alone Irons, to keep to a truce. Even Jake didn't know where she was living, and he hadn't asked. Sara wasn't sure he wanted to know, really, or who she was living with.  
  
Strangely enough, she didn't mind living with Ian. Sara had never lived with anyone other than her father before, and had thought that she would be too set in her ways to share space with anyone, let alone an assassin who until a few weeks ago had been the tool of the enemy. Ian was easy to live with, though, except for his obsession with security, which she could understand. Much to her own surprise, she had never really considered not living with him. She couldn't explain why, even to herself, but it was true anyway. It was probably the Witchblade's influence, and since they seemed to get along fairly well, she just tried not to think about it.   
  
Ian made her disarm his homemade security system and arm it again once they were inside. Sara carefully took off her jacket and dropped it on the floor by the door. Crossing the big open room, she heard Ian sigh behind her. She smiled to herself. He was incredibly neat and it drove him nuts the way she just dropped her jacket, rather than hang it up. If it hadn't been so much fun to tweak him about it, she probably would have hung it up.  
  
She filled a plastic bag with ice, and when she turned, Ian was unloading the paper bag onto the battered table. After she tucked the bag of ice under her shirt, she pulled one of the paper cartons over and sat down.  
  
"Mmmm," she said. "I love Thai." She opened the carton and suspiciously poked at the food with a plastic fork. "I think I got yours."  
  
They traded cartons, and after a few minutes of concentrated eating to take the edge off their hunger, Ian handed a pile of photographs to her. She leafed through them while finishing her Kaeng Khua Saparot. Since their big confrontation with Irons two weeks ago, she'd gone back to work under a surly Dante, but Ian had been keeping an eye on Irons' activities. She hadn't liked that plan, but Ian had assured her that he wouldn't risk his new-found independence from his former master. Irons definitely had something going on, but neither of them could tell what, so it was the only plan they had.  
  
*****  
  
Kenneth Irons looked through the glass window into the swirling mist. He couldn't see the body he knew lay on the table, but he knew it was there. He pulled his pocketwatch out and checked the time. Just after eleven. In less than twenty-four hours then, he would have his new Ian.  
  
No. He wouldn't call him that. He didn't wish to be constantly reminded of that betrayal.  
  
No matter. He would come up with something. He always did. And with a powerful new tool at his disposal, there would be no question that he could retrieve his wayward Ian and drag the lovely Sara along with him. For that, Irons could practice patience.  
  
*****  
  
Ian tapped one of the photos on the table. It showed a large white van backed up to the loading dock of a Vorschlag-owned laboratory.  
  
"This is what concerns me," he told Sara. "This is what the more clandestine lab supplies come in. There has been an increase in deliveries in the last week."  
  
"And?" Sara asked, obviously unimpressed. "Has he got a new lab rat?" Ian flinched despite himself, and Sara immediately looked guilty. "Sorry," she said. "I need to remember to think before I speak."  
  
"No, that's probably it," he said, trying to ignore the comment. "I don't know how that could be, though."  
  
"There was another one of you, in that other future," Sara pointed out.  
  
"No, they're ..." He hesitated. He'd killed them, but he hadn't told Sara that. "They're not a problem anymore," he finished finally. "But that doesn't guarantee that there aren't others."  
  
"Ones you didn't know about. Great," she said, and leaned back against her chair. "Just what we need: Irons to get himself another genetically-enhanced killing machine." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out. "Sorry," she said, her eyes still closed.  
  
"You don't have to apologize to me, Sara," Ian said softly. "You never have to."  
  
Sara opened her eyes and stared at him.  
  
"You mean that, don't you?" she asked after a long moment, but didn't wait for him to answer. "Of course I have to apologize to you. I said something thoughtless, and it hurt your feelings." She shook her head. "When will you get it through your thick skull that you are your own person, Ian? That you're allowed to get mad, to feel hurt, to tell me to pick up my damn coat when I drop it on the floor!"  
  
Ian dropped his eyes to the table in front of him. He had never not been someone's before. Even now, regardless of what she said, Ian knew he was hers. He wasn't truly his own person; he probably couldn't be, with all the changes genetic engineering and chemicals had made to his brain.  
  
"I've never done this before," was all he said, though.  
  
She sighed and Ian saw her lean forward to put her elbows on the table. He glanced briefly up, and she had her chin resting on her hands, looking intently at him. He dropped his gaze again to study the stained Formica tabletop.  
  
"I hate when you do that," she said. Ian froze. What had he done? "You get that lost puppy look and I'm not sure whether I want to hug you or smack you," she said, answering his unasked question. "Look, I know I'm not the easiest person in the world to live with, but it looks like we're stuck with each other until the Witchblade gets one or both of us killed. So I'll try to watch my big mouth if you'll tell me when I'm pissing you off. Deal?"  
  
Ian looked up and she looked expectantly at him. He would at least try, if it would make her happy.  
  
"Deal."  
  
*****  
  
Jake watched his partner as she wrote up her report of their latest case. It was a simple domestic assault turned to murder, a far too common scenario, but she paid as much attention to it as if it had been some great political mystery. That's what made her a good police detective, he decided. She cared. She really wanted to make the world a safer place, while he was here, lying to everyone -- for a good reason -- but lying nonetheless.  
  
This was his first undercover case in his time working for the FBI, and he found he didn't really like it. Bringing down the White Bulls was a noble cause, but the cost personally was getting to be too much. He was getting a little too into his role as the "bad" cop to Sara's "good" cop, he knew. It was so easy to threaten rather than cajole, to hit someone rather than just let them stew. He was good at it, too; the captain had even obliquely complimented him on his latest interrogation. He'd punched a guy in the face when Sara had left the room for some coffee, and Jake hadn't even felt bad about it. Sara knew he was undercover, so she hadn't said anything when she came back to find the suspect with a bloody nose.  
  
He really wished someone would just tell him to stop.  
  
Sara looked up at him, her expression quizzical.  
  
"What?" she asked.  
  
"Nothing," he said and shifted his gaze to the computer screen in front of him.  
  
"Don't give me that," she said, tossing her pen on the desk. "What's up?"  
  
What was he going to tell her? That he liked beating up the suspects a bit too much? That he was falling a little more in love with her every day? That her new boyfriend, Ian, was wanted by the FBI, and he hadn't told her? That he hadn't wanted to know where they lived in case he was tempted to turn the guy in?  
  
"Nothing," he insisted. "I'm fine. Just kind of zoned."  
  
She stared speculatively at him for a moment, then picked up her pen again. Shaking her head, she got back to work on the report. He almost wished she'd pushed him. Maybe he wouldn't have told her anything, but at least he'd have known that she gave a damn.  
  
*****  
  
"I'm worried about Jake," Sara said, then winged a rock at the light over the door. The bulb shattered and the alley plunged into darkness. "There's something wrong, but he won't tell me what." Ian stepped into the alley and Sara heard a snapping sound. She followed. "I know he's working really hard on the White Bulls thing, but I'm not sure it's that." Ian reached into the inner workings of a security camera and Sara handed him a pair of pliers. "There's something he's not telling me, but I can't figure out what. What do you think?"   
  
Ian twisted something inside the camera, then handed the pliers back.  
  
"Can we talk about this later?" he asked. "We're breaking and entering."  
  
"Yeah, sorry," she said. "I'm just worried about him."  
  
Ian bent over to pick the lock. Sara scanned the alley for movement and tried not to remember that she should be arresting herself for this. Breaking into the lab had been her idea, but that didn't mean it was a good one. Ian had approved, but that wasn't a sterling endorsement either; he didn't see that there was anything wrong with B & E. He had insisted that she didn't need to come along, but she didn't like him even being in a building owned by Irons. She'd seen how helpless he'd been against his training when they'd faced Irons before. She didn't want to risk Ian running into him while she wasn't around.  
  
"Got it," he said, and pulled the door open.  
  
An alarm sounded.  
  
Ian let go of the door, and grabbing her arm with his gloved hand, pulled her along the alley after him. Halfway along, he let her go and jumped up onto a dumpster. She pulled herself up after him, then let him boost her onto the low roof. Ian easily sprang up after her, and they waited.  
  
Within seconds, two security cars, floodlights blazing, screamed into each end of the alley.  
  
"Good thing we're not down there, huh?" she said, then turned to look around the roof. "Where to?"  
  
"Over here," Ian said, leading the way.  
  
He stopped where the building suddenly rose four more stories. Ten feet above their heads, a window was partially open.  
  
"That's not very secure," Sara said, grinning up at Ian.  
  
"Someone could break in," he agreed solemnly and took a few steps back.  
  
Jumping higher than any human should be able to do from a standstill, he landed, crouched, on the narrow windowsill. With one hand he shoved up the sash the rest of the way. He pulled Sara up after him and into a dim hallway.  
  
Ian motioned her to follow him, and they went into the nearest office. Ian sat down at the computer and moved the mouse, disturbing the screensaver. A window popped up, asking for a password. Ian lifted the keyboard and flipped it over; on the back was yellow sticky note. He read it, then put the keyboard back down. He typed in "kittens" and a welcome screen popped up.  
  
"How did you know that was there?" Sara hissed.  
  
"Guessed," he whispered and began scrolling through a file list.  
  
*****  
  
Ian found what he was looking for: Acquisitions. Opening up the file, he checked the list of recent deliveries to the lab. Unfortunately, he recognized the chemicals. Irons must be getting ready to indoctrinate another clone. These were the raw materials for the drugs that Irons used for mind control. He would probably be more forceful with training this time, after Ian's own defection. Ian didn't envy the new one in the slightest. Killing him would be mercy.  
  
"Well?" Sara whispered impatiently.  
  
Ian shushed her, and logged out of the computer. They made their way out of the building the same way they came in.  
  
"Well?" she repeated, once they were in the van Mobius had let them have.  
  
"We were right," he told her, then concentrated on making sure they weren't followed home.  
  
He knew that keeping their location a secret was futile in the long run, but it was worth a try. Every day, he followed Sara to and from work, watching to make sure she wasn't tailed. Eventually, Irons or one of his spies would find them, but not without Ian knowing.  
  
When they got to the loft, Sara dropped her leather jacket on the floor. He was about to pick it up as usual when he stopped himself.  
  
"Sara, pick up your jacket," he said.  
  
She turned around and raised her eyebrows. With exaggerated care, she picked up her jacket and hung it neatly on the hook by the door. She put her hands on her hips.  
  
"Happy?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," he said, and hung up his coat next to it.  
  
Walking past her to the couch, he suppressed a shudder. He had no problems with ordering Sara to do something when her safety was at stake, but something as simple as making her pick up a jacket was completely foreign to him. Irons would have punished him for demanding anything like that. In addition to the bodyguard he'd been designed for, Irons had required him to fetch, carry, and pick up after him. Ian had never questioned that, no matter how much it annoyed him. He'd never really realized before how deep his training really went before, even for simple human things like this. He would have to fight all the harder against it, he decided.  
  
He sat down on the couch and Sara kicked off her shoes and curled up at the opposite end. After inspecting his face for a moment, she cocked her head to the side.  
  
"So, what do we do now?" she asked. "About this new ... whoever ... Irons is brewing up."  
  
"I don't know," he admitted. "He'd be keeping him at the house. I could break in, but I'd have to do it alone. He'll have changed the security setup by now."  
  
"No way are you going in there alone," she said, her voice firm. "Either I go with you, or you don't go."  
  
"I could just go while you're at work," he pointed out. "You'd never even know."  
  
"And if you didn't come back?" she asked, with that overly-reasonable tone that he now recognized as only appearing when she was trying to keep her temper.  
  
"I'd come back," he said, trying to sound more confident than he really felt.  
  
Sara shook her head.  
  
"For now," she said, "Let's just wait."  
  
*****  
  
Irons watched the man strapped into the chair in front of him. The hazel eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him, and a small smile flickered occasionally on the man's full lips. Irons had not decided yet what to name this new creature of his, but he would have to do it soon. Already the dark-haired man was beginning to show signs of independent thought, and Irons needed a name to control him. Never before had Irons attempted to activate one of the clones without a transfer of at least some of the previous one's inhibitions. If this succeeded, then he would not have to rely on such a haphazard method again.  
  
Irons checked the intravenous line again, then left the room. Dr. Immo waited for him, shifting nervously from foot to foot.  
  
"You know I have some reservations about this," Immo said.  
  
"I do not," Irons said firmly. "He will be biddable enough for my purposes."  
  
"He was only meant for study, never for use," Immo insisted. "He is unstable."  
  
"Everything will be fine, Doctor," Irons said, reassuringly. "Think of it as an opportunity, a gift." He smiled suddenly. "I'll call him Matthew," he said. "Incorporate that into the tapes."  
  
To name was to know and to know was to control. He would control this new one, this Matthew. Of that he had no doubt.  
  
*****  
  
Sara scanned the day's new missing persons reports. It was something she tried to do every day, just in case it could help with a case. She always hoped that it wouldn't, that each missing person would be found alive and well, but a few times she'd identified one of her corpses from a fleeting memory of a report. Her eyes snagged on a name: Gina Maris. The Witchblade spewed up a vision.  
  
"You filed a missing person's report on Gina Maris?" she asked.  
  
A falsely concerned face. "Oh, yes. Did you find her?"  
  
"Damn it," Sara swore and pulled out her cell phone.   
  
It was a new digital one, supposedly incapable of being listened in on, but she couldn't bring herself to trust that. She pressed the first speed dial number and waited impatiently as it rang. Jake came in and dropped a jelly doughnut on the desk in front of her. She nodded her thanks.  
  
"Yes?" Ian's voice came over the phone.  
  
Sara looked at Jake, who was watching her with his brow creased and a slight frown on his lips.  
  
"Uh ... Can we meet?" she said, dropping her eyes. "Something's come up."  
  
"Of course," Ian said. "Where? When?"  
  
"An hour," she said and glanced back up. Jake's expression looked almost angry. "Um ... you pick the place."  
  
"Third floor of the library by the loft," Ian said immediately.  
  
"Meet you there," she said and hung up. "I've got to go," she told Jake.   
  
Grabbing her doughnut and cup of coffee, she jogged out the door.  
  
*****  
  
Jake stared after Sara, then plopped down into his chair.  
  
"Hey, McCartey," Captain Dante said from the door behind him. Jake turned to face him. "Where's your partner going in such a rush? And why aren't you going with her?"  
  
"She had to see an informant," Jake lied, knowing by the guilty look on her face that it was Ian she was skipping out to see. "He would only talk to her."  
  
"You two should be joined at the hip," Dante said, then shrugged, seemingly uncaring. "Never mind. You want to go get a drink tonight? There's something I want to talk to you about."  
  
"Uh, yeah, sure, Captain," Jake said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. "I'm done at six."  
  
"I know. Meet me at Charlie's," Dante said, and winked.  
  
When he was gone, Jake allowed himself a smile. At least his undercover case was finally going somewhere. Maybe this wasn't going to be such a bad day after all.   
  
*****  
  
Ian got to the library well before he was supposed to, but Sara was already there, pacing between the stacks on the third floor. She immediately turned on him, her eyes narrowed.  
  
"Karen Bronte," she said, her voice hard. "Who is she to me?"  
  
"Cousin," he said quickly. "Elizabeth Bronte had two daughters. Karen is descended from the older, you from the younger. That's all I know."  
  
Sara glanced down at the Witchblade, then looked back at him again. Her body relaxed, and she leaned back against the shelves behind her. That really was all he knew, and he was glad she seemed to believe him. Irons had not spoken much of Sara's history to him and Ian had not really thought the details important. He wished now that he had paid more attention.  
  
"Karen's roommate's missing person report was filed today," she said. "I can't let Karen be in danger." She looked speculatively at him. "Do you think Dominique Boucher would help us against Irons?"  
  
"She's insane," Ian said, shaking his head. "All she desires is the Blade."  
  
"Like Irons," she said. "They must have made a charming couple." She sighed. "I want to try talking to her at least. Maybe if I just go to her, she'll leave Karen alone."  
  
"I can watch her," Ian offered, though he hoped she wouldn't accept. He was more worried about what Irons was doing than the machinations of the pretender, no matter how much it upset Sara.  
  
"No," she said, shaking her head. "Karen should be safe for a few days." She looked down at the Witchblade on her wrist and grimaced. "And Gina Maris is already dead."   
  
Sara rubbed her hands across her face and pushed her hair back. Ian saw that the circles under her eyes had grown darker in the past few days. He knew she hadn't been sleeping well. Lying asleep on his cot at the opposite end of the loft, he could feel her dreams tug at his. The bond between them tried to drag him to her in the nightmares, but he kept himself away. Allowing himself to join her there would be a violation of the fragile trust they were forging, he knew. They hadn't yet discussed the nature of their connection to each other, and Ian didn't want to force her to have to acknowledge something neither of them were really capable of dealing with right now. So, he held himself away from her, asleep as well as awake, keeping watch over her sleep only from across the room. Now, it seemed Sara's restless nights were beginning to take their toll. If trying to ensure that Karen Bronte was safe would make her sleep easier, then he would help her all he could, he decided.  
  
"We'll see her together," he said. "Tomorrow."  
  
*****  
  
Jake lay on his couch, staring at the ceiling as it flickered in the light from the television. He'd finally been asked to join the White Bulls. Why didn't that make him feel better?  
  
Maybe it was the price Dante had asked him to pay: the betrayal of Sara. Or, more precisely, Sara's friend Ian. Dante had made no secret of the fact that he wanted Sara off the force, but he seemed to be working under orders that he didn't like. His main concern was, as the captain had put it, "that freak Nottingham she's got on a leash."  
  
Dante had slammed a beer bottle down on the table between them.  
  
"No one knows where they're living, but wherever she is, he's never far away," the captain had said angrily. "Getting that creepy bastard off the streets could get us in good with the FBI."  
  
It might, Jake knew, but it was pretty obvious that a good relationship with the feds wasn't Dante's real concern. Sara had told Jake, a couple weeks ago, when things had started getting weird, that Ian's boss was the one behind the White Bulls. He, whoever he was, must want Ian back. Ian himself had used the word "escape." Who was Ian Nottingham, and why was so important that giving him up to the White Bulls was Jake's price of admission?  
  
He'd tried the FBI files, but all that he could get was that Ian was highly dangerous and wanted for an unspecified charge -- no age, no location, no history at all. That made Jake highly suspicious. Combined with the timing of the wanted notice -- after Ian had "escaped" from wherever or whoever -- Jake knew that he should try to look into it more.  
  
But he really didn't want to. Given the chance, Jake knew that he'd hand Ian to the White Bulls, the FBI, anybody, wrapped in bow. It disgusted him, but it was true. Thank god he and Sara were both off tomorrow. Jake didn't know if he was going to be able to look her in the eyes, in case she could see what he thinking.  
  
*****  
  
Irons had been slightly hesitant about sending Matthew out on his own so soon, but had disregarded any misgivings as the results of Dr. Immo's continued carping. This new one was strong and capable, even more so than the last one was. The tape training seemed to have worked perfectly and Matthew looked to be the perfect soldier in Irons' army of one.  
  
"You understand what you are to do?" Irons asked him now.  
  
"Yes, sir," Matthew said softly but surely.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"I am to find them, follow them, ascertain their location, and return," his new creation repeated faithfully. "I am to remain unnoticed."  
  
"Are you able to do this?" Irons asked sternly, watching Matthew carefully.  
  
"Oh, yes, sir," he answered, and Irons smiled at the eagerness in his voice. "I have no doubts."  
  
"Then go," Irons said proudly.  
  
It was only a matter of time, now. Ian and Sara would be his again.  
  
*****  
  
Sara pulled up her sleeve to expose the Witchblade. She smiled grimly as Dominique Boucher's eyes widened with undisguised lust.  
  
"We need to talk," Sara told her.  
  
Without taking her eyes off Sara's bracelet, Dominique led Sara and Ian into a small alcove. Ian stood close behind Sara, his broad, black-clad shoulders shielding them from the rest of the room.  
  
"I should just take it from you," Dominique hissed. "You don't deserve it."  
  
Sara turned her arm over so the older woman could see the scars where the tendrils from the Blade had pierced her skin during the periculum.  
  
"The Witchblade might beg to differ," Sara said, then dropped her arm. "I don't want to fight with you, but I will if I have to. I didn't sleep well, and I'm not in a good mood. So can we just talk civilly?"  
  
Dominique eyed her suspiciously, then her eyes slid to Ian.  
  
"Is this your master's petty revenge?" she asked him.  
  
"He has no master," Sara growled and the Witchblade tingled on her arm, urging her to give it release. She resisted.  
  
Dominique laughed.  
  
"This one will always have a master," she said, smiling nastily. "Every dog needs one. Maybe it's a mistress this time, but it's just the same."  
  
Sara heard Ian inhale sharply and was glad she couldn't see his face. Clenching and unclenching her hands at her sides, Sara willed herself to remain calm. Dominique was trying to piss her off, she reminded herself. It was working, but that didn't mean she had to give into it.  
  
"The Witchblade's your master, but it doesn't even want you," Sara told her, taking a step toward the other woman. "It wants me." Sara advanced again, and Dominique took a step back, pressing against the wall. "It took you for a ride and tossed you away, Cruella, and it's not here to make up. As a matter of fact," she said as the Blade again urged her to violence, "It seems to want you dead. But I don't ... for now."  
  
Sara took a step back and watched Dominique's face. Her eyes skittered from Sara to the Blade to Ian and back to the Witchblade again. Sara forced back her impatience and tried to appear non-threatening. Probably a futile attempt after her little speech and with a glowering assassin at her back, but she gave it a shot.  
  
"Kenneth doesn't know you're here," the other woman said eventually. It wasn't a question.  
  
"No," Sara said.  
  
"You want my help." Again, not a question. "Why should I bother?"  
  
"I could give you plenty of reasons," Sara said, her patience fraying, "But let's just go with the most basic right now: I'll let you live. I know what you want to do to Karen Bronte, and if I weren't a cop ..."  
  
Sara let the unspoken threat hang in the air. It was true. Karen seemed to be the only link Sara had to her family. If Dominique threatened her cousin further, Sara wouldn't hesitate to kill the pretender. That must have been obvious on her face because after a long moment, Dominique held up her hands as if in surrender.  
  
"I won't help you," she said, then at the look on Sara's face, continued quickly, "But I won't hinder you. And I'll make sure Karen is safe. There's a modeling job in Paris I can send her to." She stared hungrily at the Witchblade on Sara's wrist. "You make Kenneth pay for taking that away from me," she hissed. "Make him regret the day he was born."  
  
*****

Matthew watched them leave the building together. The one who looked like him obediently trailed just behind the woman, the Bladewielder. Matthew wanted her. The puppy could be easily dealt with, but the woman, Sara, would be a good fight. His fingers itched to feel her throat crushed between them, but he pushed the urge aside.  
  
For now, he would play the obedient servant. For now, he would do as he was told.  
  
For now.  
  
*****  
  
Ian stood on the sidewalk as Sara straddled her motorcycle. He wanted to wrench the key out of the ignition but stuffed his hands in his pockets instead.  
  
"Skullduggery and threats might be par for the course for you," she was saying, "But I need a break. I need to do something normal. And I don't want to find you hanging around in the shadows! Give me a little space, OK?"  
  
"As much as you like," he said, keeping his face carefully blank.  
  
He took a deliberate step away from her and Sara stared at him, her expression angry but otherwise unreadable. Turning away from him, she started her bike, then drove off far too quickly, her tires squealing.  
  
Closing his eyes, he stood on the sidewalk and followed her progress. On his mental map of the city, she was a bright light, threading her way through the streets. Once he was sure she was far enough away, he headed for the van around the corner. If she didn't want to see him, she wouldn't. But that didn't mean he wouldn't be there.  
  
He'd seen enough of human nature that the phrase "give me a little space" was indicative of fear, and he tried to keep that firmly in mind. Sara wasn't tired of him; she was tired of the situation. He really couldn't blame her. This was, in fact, normal for him. He'd actually been impressed by how well she was handling having her life turned totally upside-down in a month. It was only the suddenness that surprised him.  
  
He started up the van. He could find her anywhere, but she wasn't very good at finding him if he didn't want to be found.   
  
*****  
  
Sara finally parked her bike and got off to wander around Central Park. She didn't have any destination in mind, but she felt like she needed to keep moving. If she stopped for a moment to sit down, she might finally break down and cry and never be able to get up again.   
  
She was horrified with herself, disgusted by the way she'd treated Dominique Boucher.   
Even though the other woman would have killed her without a second thought, Sara wanted to believe that she herself was better than that. She wasn't so sure though. Even now, part of her wanted nothing more than to let the Witchblade have its way and bury the Blade to its hilt in the pretender's gut. What kind of monster was she becoming that easy murder was something that she could seriously contemplate?  
  
Dominique was as much a victim as the corpses Sara investigated every day on the job. She might be still walking around, but the Witchblade had killed her years ago -- the human part of her, anyway. Who was to say that the Blade wouldn't someday do that to her -- that it wasn't going to chew her up and spit her out and leave her an obsessed maniac like Dominique or even Kenneth Irons.  
  
"You must trust the Witchblade, Sara," a woman's voice said behind her.  
  
Sara whirled around to find Elizabeth Bronte, the last real Wielder, standing behind her. As always, she was a faded gray, like an old black and white photograph. Sara shook her head at the vision.  
  
"Great, now I'm hallucinating, too," she muttered.  
  
"You're right: I'm not real," the woman said, smiling gently. "This is just your way of using the information from your other lives. You don't really want to accept that it's all inside of you, so you create a vision of me to give you access."  
  
"I think I'm going crazy," Sara said with a dry laugh. "I'm just not cut out for this."  
  
"This is what you were born to do, Sara. But because you are unfocused, the Witchblade is controlling you, not the other way around." Elizabeth brushed off a fallen log and sat down, neatly folding her legs up under her slim skirt. "You are trying to do too much. You cannot, unfortunately, save everyone."  
  
"So you're saying I've got to let some people die when I know enough to save them?" Sara said, unbelieving. "No way. If I can't live with myself now, there's no way I could live with myself then."  
  
"There are always sacrifices in a war," Elizabeth said, her voice suddenly harsh. "We Wielders are the ones who much make the choices that determine who lives and who dies. Sometimes we must sacrifice strangers, lovers, family, even ourselves. The choice is never easy, but it is a choice that must be made."  
  
"What gives me the right?" Sara demanded. "This stupid bracelet?" She held out her arm and the Witchblade's stone swirled angrily. "Nothing gives me the right to sacrifice the innocent for some greater purpose, no matter how noble."  
  
"What about the not-so-innocent?" Elizabeth asked, her voice calm and level again. "You've made that choice before."  
  
"It wants me to kill - indiscriminately. I won't do it unless I absolutely have to," Sara snapped, dropping her arm to her side.  
  
After a moment, Elizabeth smiled and winked at her.  
  
"Good," she said, and faded away.  
  
*****  
  
Matthew saw Sara scan the snow-covered landscape of the park, then throw up her hands. She shook her head, then laughed out loud. Hiding behind a bush, Matthew watched her move off down the tree-lined path. He followed behind her quietly, moving from cover to cover. She rounded a curve and for a moment, Matthew lost sight of her. When he poked his head from behind a fallen tangle of branches, she was nowhere in sight.  
  
"I thought I told you to give me a little space," Sara's voice came from behind him.  
  
Matthew whirled to find her standing atop a chunk of rock, her hands on her hips. Her head was cocked to the side, her eyebrows raised, and, for a moment Matthew was stunned by the sight. He wanted her blood on his hands more than he had thought possible.  
  
But not now. Soon.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said softly, and dropped his eyes to the ground as he'd seen the puppy do. "I couldn't help it."  
  
He risked a quick glance up. Her eyes had narrowed and she had dropped her hands to her sides. She was suspicious. He wasn't being pliant enough. The stupid puppy never would have spoken. He waited silently.  
  
She jumped down off the rock and came almost within arms' reach. Matthew's hands clenched involuntarily at his sides. He forced them to be still.  
  
Not yet. Not now.  
  
*****  
  
Ian watched as Sara approached his doppelganger. He made himself stay where he was. She could take care of herself, he reminded himself. He would only intervene if she appeared to be in imminent danger. For the moment, the other one seemed content with just impersonation.  
  
Sara stood in front of the other man, and Ian could see his hands clench and unclench convulsively. Sara noticed, too.  
  
"What's the matter?" she asked. "What's wrong with you?" He remained silent, and Sara took a step back. "Who are you?"  
  
"What do you mean, Sara?" the other one said, and Ian recognized the sound of his own voice, but tinged with an edge of anger. "You know who I am."  
  
"No," Sara said, and took another step back. Her eyes quickly darted around her.  
  
"I'm sorry I disobeyed," the other one said, his voice dripping with sorrow.  
  
Sara barked out a harsh laugh.  
  
"Now I know you're not him," she said and pulled her gun out to aim at the man's chest. "You're Irons' new pet, aren't you?"  
  
"I am no one's pet," the other man growled.  
  
Sara flinched as if she'd been slapped, but her thumb came up and cocked the gun.  
  
"What's your name?" she asked, her voice steady, but Ian could feel her nervousness. "You an Ian, too?"  
  
The other one suddenly dropped his subservient posture, his head coming up. Ian couldn't see the other's face, but whatever Sara saw must have concerned her; she took another step back, never taking her gun off him. Ian readied himself to spring from his cover.  
  
"No," the clone laughed. "He didn't want to be reminded of his ever-so-precious Ian," the other one said, a disgust in his voice Ian had never heard in his own. The man reached a hand out to Sara but then quickly yanked it back. "If you can guess my name, I'll tell you."  
  
"What is this, Rumplestiltskin?" Sara asked. "Why don't you just tell me? Or are you afraid?"  
  
The other one lunged at her and Sara dropped to her back in the snow, her gun never leaving her target. Instead of attacking, though, he jumped over her and ran off into the woods. Sara scrambled to her knees and aimed her gun after him, but after a moment, dropped her arms.  
  
He was gone.  
  
*****  
  
Jake saw Sara come running from the wooded path and jump on her motorcycle. If his car hadn't been stopped at a light, he never would have seen her. She pulled into traffic in front of him, and Jake made his decision.  
  
He followed her.  
  
*****  
  
Sara pushed through the door, setting off the alarm.  
  
"Damn, damn, damn!" she swore and punched in the code. The keening stopped.  
  
Sara scanned the loft. Ian was sitting calmly at the computer system that had cost them five thousand dollars of Ian's stolen money. Every time she looked at it she was reminded of how much rent it would have paid and how little money they had left. When it ran out, she'd be supporting them both on a cop's salary; not a pleasant prospect. Somehow she didn't think Ian would be all that great at holding down a job.  
  
"Why do you set the alarm when you're here?" she snapped at Ian.  
  
"A security system is useless if it's not engaged," he said, then turned back to the screen in front of him. "Please reset it."  
  
Sara stared at him for a moment, then, punching the keys slightly harder than she needed to, did as she was told. Tossing her helmet into the corner, she shrugged out of her coat and pointedly hung it up, even though he seemed to be ignoring her. If Ian was going to be so blasé, then he could just wait for her big news. She went to stand behind him.  
  
On the screen, she saw only meaningless dashed lines and mathematical calculations. She was nearly bursting out of her skin with wanting to tell him about meeting the clone, but she refused to do it if he wasn't going to show any curiosity about her agitation. For several minutes she bounced on the balls on her feet behind him until he swiveled his chair around.  
  
"How did you know he wasn't me?" Ian asked.  
  
Sara's mouth dropped open.  
  
"You followed me," she said, putting her hands on her hips.  
  
"How did you know?" he repeated, his voice infuriatingly calm.  
  
"I specifically asked you not to," Sara said, ignoring his question.  
  
"You told me not to," Ian corrected. "How did you know he wasn't me?"  
  
Sara rolled her eyes. They were never going to get anywhere like this. She gave in.  
  
"I don't know," she said. "It was just ... He wasn't you."  
  
"Clothes? Mannerisms?" he persisted. "Voice? Posture?"  
  
Sara closed her eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, dropping his eyes to the snow on the ground. "I couldn't help it."  
  
"No," she said, opening her eyes again, "I don't know. But what does that matter? He's out there -- Rumplestiltskin or whatever his name is."  
  
"Rumplestiltskin?" Ian asked, his brow creasing.  
  
"It's a fairy tale," she said, but Ian's face showed no understanding. "Never mind. What do you think he wanted? He obviously wanted me to think he was you."  
  
"I don't think so," he said, and turned as the computer beeped at him. He tapped at the keyboard as he continued. "I'm not sure he meant to be seen. You caught him off guard."  
  
"He was easy to hear following me," Sara admitted. "I didn't know you were there; I guess he's just not as good as you."  
  
"He's not as experienced as me. He's just been born, Sara," he said, his back still to her. "I've had ten years; he doesn't even have ten days."  
  
"What do you mean, 'ten years'?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she tried to spin his chair around. His feet were firmly planted on the floor, though, and he didn't budge. "You're at least as old as me, Ian."  
  
"I'm not," he said and continued typing.  
  
Sara reached over his shoulder and turned the monitor off. Ian continued to type for a moment, then dropped his hands into his lap. Sara could almost feel him resisting the urge to drop his head down. He stood suddenly, his chair banging into her shins.  
  
"Ow," she said as he strode past her to the refrigerator. "Since when do you run away?" She called after him.  
  
His knuckles whitened visibly on the handle of the fridge, but Sara couldn't see his face from this angle. It was nice to know that, strange as he might be sometimes, the simple macho taunts still worked on him. Limping slightly, she followed him. His face was hidden by his loose hair, and Sara reached up to brush it back. As soon as she touched a stray lock, though, he started violently away from her, ending up with his back pressed up against a wall of cabinets across the kitchen.  
  
"What is with you?" Sara asked.  
  
"Don't touch me," Ian said after a moment, his voice not quite steady.   
  
"I thought that wasn't bothering you anymore, at least not as much," Sara said, staying where she was as she watched Ian visibly made himself relax. "You haven't had any problems when we've been sneaking around in close quarters."  
  
"That's different," he said, "That's work."  
  
"And this is ... what?" Sara asked.  
  
"Different," he said firmly.  
  
*****  
  
Sara threw up her hands and went to sit at the kitchen table. He could tell that she really wanted to pursue the subject but was forcing herself not to. He was grateful. There was no easy way to explain that when he was working with her, he could mostly ignore the years of indoctrination that made him dread her touch, but when it was personal, the thought of her touching him still horrified him. He couldn't bear the thought of her soiling herself by voluntarily touching someone so unclean as himself. He fought it as much as he could, but it wasn't so easy to disregard such a strong inhibition. He, too, had thought that he was getting better, but obviously not.  
  
He went back over to the fridge and got out a bottle of beer for Sara and a bottle of orange juice for himself. He'd only just tasted beer last week when Sara had made him try some. He was spoiled from drinking good wine in Irons' company: the beer had tasted horrible. Besides, right now, he didn't need his thoughts any more muddled than they already were. He set the beer in front of Sara and sat across the table from her.  
  
"All right," she said after she opened the bottle and took a big swig. "Honesty time here: how old are you?"  
  
"My body is 32," he said, "What I think of as me has been alive for ten years."  
  
"Ok," Sara said after a moment, "I'm going to try not to dwell on the creepiness factor here, but what does this mean in relation to the other guy? The other Ian in the other future knew things that you did; I'm sure of that."  
  
Ian felt shoulder muscles that he hadn't even been aware were tightened, loosen. She wasn't going to push him for details of his own experience, and he was glad. They were only just beginning to be comfortable with each other, and Ian didn't want to spoil the peace he'd been feeling by bringing up what a freak he was.  
  
"This one can't," he said. "I'm still alive. Memories can only be transferred from a dead brain. He's starting from scratch."  
  
"Can I say 'ew'?" Sara grimaced, then took another drink. "So he's been watching us -- you -- at least, long enough to be able to imitate you, at least to a casual observer."  
  
"Mr. Irons has probably been using the same program that was used on my Black Dragons unit," he said. "It would be easy to slip in footage of me, or you."  
  
"So in addition to pumping him full of psycho warrior crap, Irons is making him watch home movies, too? I knew the guy was a bastard, but that's just cruel!" Sara said, grinning. After a moment, she grew serious again. "Look, I'm sorry. For this morning. For taking off. I'm not mad at you; I'm mad at me. I shouldn't have run off like that, at least not without telling you why."  
  
"It's all right," Ian said, studying his juice bottle closely. "I knew. I'm scared, too."  
  
"Good," she said, and Ian could hear the smile in her voice. "I thought I was the only one."  
  
*****  
  
Irons raised his hand to strike, but controlled himself. Matthew stood in front of him obediently, showing no concern for the anger focused on him.  
  
"You were to remain unseen," Irons hissed, dropping his hand to his side. "Now they know about you."  
  
"She already knew, sir," the other man said softly, his head still bowed. "She wasn't surprised to see me."  
  
"And Ian?" Irons asked. "Was he there as well?"  
  
"No, they had argued, and she was by herself," Matthew said with what sounded like satisfaction. "She didn't want him to follow. She didn't want him."  
  
Irons smiled. Sara and Ian's partnership was fracturing already. It would be divide and conquer, then. This was going to be almost too easy.  
  
*****  
  
Jake sat in the dark, abandoned building, watching the window across from him. Sara had driven straight home from the park and bounded up the stairs to the decrepit loft. He'd been here all day now, his entire day off, watching through the windows like some run-of-the-mill peeping tom. He'd watched Sara and Ian spend their day together, his stomach growing ever more acidic as he watched the domestic scene.  
  
He was glad he hadn't decided to go home for his parabolic microphone; the binoculars were bad enough. Watching Sara pretend to read on the couch as her eyes followed Ian around the apartment made him want to be sick. Seeing Ian hold the boxing bag while Sara kicked and punched it made him want to hit the other man. Even something as simple as watching them bicker over what to watch on television made him furious.  
  
Jake had never truly been jealous before, he realized that now. Anything he had ever felt before paled in comparison to the burning envy he felt now. Every time the other man even looked at Sara, Jake wanted nothing more than to pummel him into a bloody pulp. Part of him knew that he was being crazy, that Sara was his partner, nothing more, but the majority of him just wanted Ian out of the picture, and now.  
  
But if this Ian was so important to the White Bulls, maybe Jake could do even better than handing Ian over to them. Maybe he could give this information to the guy who ran the White Bulls, Ian's former employer. He was sure Sara or Ian had mentioned his name.  
  
"Did your friend Maria have an apartment?" Ian asked Sara from the backseat.  
  
She turned around to look at him. "Yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"  
  
"I don't know where it is," Ian said.  
  
"So Irons won't either," Sara said, and smiled at the other man.  
  
"Irons," Jake said, his voice echoing in the empty building. "Irons."  
  
*****  
  
"Hey, Jake," Sara said as she entered the office she and her partner shared. "How was the day off?"  
  
"Fine," he said shortly as she sat down across from him. "Yours?"  
  
"Pretty good," she answered. "Just kind of hung out at home, worked out, watched TV -- nothing really exciting."  
  
Jake opened his mouth to say something when the phone rang. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he picked it up.  
  
"McCartey," he said, then, after a moment, handed the phone to her.  
  
"Detective Pezzini," she said.  
  
"Ah, Sara, I'm so glad I caught you," Irons' oily voice came through the line.  
  
"Oh, it's you," she said, and turned away from Jake's unabashed stare. "What do you want?"  
  
"I have some information to share with you," he said.  
  
"I don't want anything from you. I've told you that," she said, trying to keep her voice quiet. "Just leave us alone."  
  
"Please, Sara, I'm trying to keep you out of danger," he said, sounding concerned, but Sara didn't buy it.  
  
"Yeah, right. What danger?" she asked.  
  
"I'd rather not discuss it over the phone. Please, come by my office," he said.  
  
She really didn't want to go. She did not trust Kenneth Irons, and knew that the only danger she was in was at his direction. If she went, she could be walking right into a trap. However, if she didn't go, she might miss a chance to get some idea of what he was up to. And this was the first time Irons had contacted her since she and Ian had made their declaration of independence.  
  
"All right. I'll be by some time today," she said, then hung up without saying goodbye.  
  
But she wasn't going to tell Ian. He'd want to go with her, and she just didn't want to risk that. More to the point, she found she didn't want to risk him. She wasn't exactly sure what was going on with her and Ian, what kind of tentative friendship they were developing, but she knew that together, they were stronger than they were separately. In anything involving Ian's former master, though, she was better off alone.  
  
"Something wrong, Pez?" Jake asked. "You're frowning."  
  
Sara shook her head to clear it. She didn't need to risk getting Jake involved. His work with the White Bulls kept him right on the edge of trouble, and she didn't want to add any more to his worries.  
  
"Nothing," she said and turned on a smile for his benefit. "Don't worry about it. Just personal stuff."  
  
*****  
  
Matthew stood behind Irons' chair, his hands clenched tightly behind him. Sara stood in front of the weakling who called himself Matthew's master, unconcerned, her hands casually in the pockets of her leather jacket. Matthew wished he was allowed to just take her. He had some things he wanted to try out before he killed her. Some of the tapes he had been shown had given him some wonderful ideas.  
  
"Hey, just like old times," Sara said to Irons, her eyes flicking dismissively over Matthew. "Got yourself a new lackey. Gosh, he looks an awful lot like Ian, doesn't he?"  
  
"Let's not play games, Sara," Irons said, his voice serious.  
  
Sara laughed.  
  
"That's funny, coming from you," she said, her smile fading. "All you do is play games. What are you playing at now?"  
  
"No games," Irons said. "I am concerned for your safety. Matthew is genetically identical to Ian. He was in the process of being awakened even before Ian ... left my employ. I'm afraid Ian's medical tests showed that he was becoming unstable."  
  
Matthew seethed internally. He was nothing like that stupid little puppy dog. He was better. Stronger, smarter, more dangerous. Definitely more dangerous. And soon, he'd get his chance to show them.  
  
*****  
  
Ian sat in the van across the street from the Vorschlag building. He turned up the gain on the board and was rewarded with clearer sound.  
  
"Unstable? How?" he heard Sara ask.  
  
It hadn't been easy to rig up Sara's cell phone to be a remote microphone, but he'd managed it. The hardest part had been getting her to part with it for the several hours he had required to slip in the hardware. He'd finally had to settle for stealing it out of her bedroom last night when she was sleeping. That in and of itself had been a dangerous task. She'd been dreaming and being so close to her had threatened to drag him down in with her. Luckily, he'd been able to retreat with the phone before the urge to join her there had gotten too strong.  
  
"His serotonin levels had been steadily dropping over the last few months, and testosterone rising," he heard Irons' muffled voice say. "His neural cells had also showed signs of increased deterioration."  
  
"So what you're saying is that he's getting more aggressive and literally losing his mind?" Sara said and there was a long pause. "Now that you mention it, he has been acting differently lately."  
  
"Believe whatever you will of me, Sara, but don't ever believe that I want you to be hurt when I could prevent it," Irons said, and Ian could hear the particular squeak the office chair made when Irons stood up.   
  
"I'll think about what you said, Mr. Irons," Sara said.  
  
"I may be able to help him, if he comes back to me," his former master said, his voice much clearer -- closer to Sara -- now. "If he doesn't ... Well ... watch your back, Sara."  
  
"I always do," Sara said.  
  
*****  
  
Sara pushed through the doors and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the building. She hadn't gone three steps when a black shape loomed in front of her. She looked up into Ian's unreadable eyes.  
  
"If I'd told you, you would have just insisted on coming with me, and I didn't think that was a good idea," Sara said and stepped around him.  
  
Walking toward the street, she spotted their van parked in front of her bike. She stopped between them. Ian stopped in front of her, trapping her against the van.  
  
"I'm not losing my mind," he said, his voice low.  
  
"What, do you have me bugged or something?" His quickly eyes shifted away from hers. "You have me bugged!" she exclaimed.  
  
She turned and peered through the van's back windows. Small red lights punctuated the interior's gloom. Turning back around, she shoved Ian back to give her a little more room to be self-righteous in.  
  
"You don't think that I believed him, do you?" From the kicked puppy look on his face, it was fairly obvious he had. "I wouldn't trust that creepy bastard to tell me the grass was green unless I was standing on it, Ian."  
  
"You said I'd been acting differently," he said hesitantly.  
  
"You have, you idiot! You've been beginning to act like a normal human being," she said. "Except for the part where you plant a wire on me, of course."  
  
"That was for your own good. In case you did something impulsive," he said pointedly.  
  
"This wasn't impulsive," Sara said. "I had a plan."  
  
"Which was?" Ian asked, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
"To see what happened and react accordingly," Sara said, trying to make it sound sensible. He didn't appear to buy it. "All right, I was winging it, but everything went fine. And we learned the other one's name: Matthew. Everything's fine."  
  
Seemingly satisfied, Ian reached around her to open the van door. Moving out of the way, Sara watched him climb in, then shut the doors behind him. She moved around to the passenger side and tapped on the window. Ian started the engine, then turned to look at her.  
  
"Where's the bug?" Sara asked as the window rolled down. Ian tapped his ear as if he couldn't hear as the engine revved. "Where's the bug?" she repeated louder.  
  
Ian tapped his ear again and shrugged. He rolled up the window, and as Sara watched him drive off, she could have sworn she saw him smile.  
  
*****  
  
Jake stood opposite the Vorschlag building. Sara stood on the sidewalk about thirty feet from him, her hands on her hips, watching a van pull away from the curb. As she shook her head and smiled, Jake felt another stab of jealousy.  
  
He was doing the right thing, he reminded himself, as Sara hopped on her bike and pulled out into the late afternoon traffic. Ian Nottingham was dangerous, wanted by the FBI. Plus, he would be Jake's ticket into the White Bulls. He was just doing his job.  
  
Crossing the street, Jake bounded up the steps to the Vorschlag building's main entrance and crossed the lobby to the elevators. It hadn't been difficult to find out who "Irons" referred to, once he got the name into the FBI's database. Kenneth Irons, the billionaire, was at the top of the Fortune 500 and owned more than five percent of the real estate in New York City. In addition to being a major financial player, a notation in his FBI file showed that he was suspected of having formerly been an arms dealer, but that it had never been absolutely proven. He was also suspected of murder, kidnapping, extortion, and a laundry list of other crimes, none of which could be proven, either.  
  
In any case, Irons was now the head of Vorschlag Industries, a multi-national conglomerate that had its tentacles in everything from newspapers to cable television channels to pharmaceuticals to military research, all apparently above board. Jake knew that Irons wasn't the big-hearted patron of the arts he tried to appear; he just hoped that he would get a chance to make his offer before he got tossed out of the building, or worse.  
  
The elevator stopped at the penthouse and Jake stepped out into a spacious lobby. He walked over to the receptionist's desk and pulled out his NYPD badge.  
  
"Detective McCartey, here to see Mr. Irons," he told her.  
  
The woman's eyes flicked past him, then she gave an almost imperceptible nod. Looking up at Jake, she turned on a bright smile.  
  
"Mr. Irons is expecting you, Detective. Please go on back," she said, pointing down a hallway.  
  
"Expecting me?" Jake asked, but the woman just continued to smile at him.  
  
Shrugging, Jake walked down the hall to the large open doors. The man he had seen on the FBI file sat behind a large desk, his eyes focused on a flat-screen monitor in front of him. After keeping him waiting for just a little longer than was polite, Kenneth Irons turned to Jake.  
  
"Ah, Detective McCartey," the billionaire said. "How nice to finally meet you."  
  
*****  
  
He'd only seen the undercover federal agent before in surveillance photos. It amazed Irons that he managed to look even younger and more impotent in person. Who would think that this tow-headed ex-surfer was attempting to bring down the most corrupt police department in the country? There was no way he was going to succeed, of course, but it amused Irons that this little boy was the best the FBI could do.  
  
"What can I do for you, Detective?" Irons asked, standing up from behind his desk. "Your lovely partner Sara was here earlier. Do you come bearing a message from her?"  
  
The federal agent visibly flinched. A flush began to creep up from his neck and he clenched his hands into tight fists.  
  
"Detective Pezzini," the young man corrected, "Doesn't know I'm here. She wouldn't like it if she did." A quick frown flitted across his features but was swiftly replaced by resolve. "I have an offer to make you, Mr. Irons."  
  
"What could you possibly have that I want?" Irons asked, moving to stand in front of his desk.  
  
"Your man, Ian Nottingham," the agent responded. "I know where you can find him."  
  
Irons smiled. First he'd sown a little more distrust between Sara and Ian, and now they were being delivered to him on a platter. He doubted the day could get any better.  
  
*****  
  
Ian was just putting the van in drive when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Only one person had the number, so he didn't even bother to look at the display as he answered it.  
  
"Yes, Sara?" he said as he brought it up to his ear.  
  
Instead of Sara's voice, however, the harsh screech of a modem came from the earpiece. Yanking it away, he looked at the phone's LCD.  
  
It was the loft's security system, indicating a break-in. The system was genetically keyed to Sara only. Ian himself had to remotely disarm it every time he arrived home by himself, and that only blinded one single window sensor for two minutes. He hadn't dared risk adding his genetic code to the biometric scan, in case Irons had created another clone, and now, he was glad he had taken that precaution.  
  
This was no time for self-congratulations, though. He terminated the call, then quickly dialed Sara's number. She was in the vicinity of the loft, he knew, though at this distance, he couldn't tell exactly where she was.  
  
He waited impatiently for Sara to answer. She finally did.  
  
"Why do you need to call when you've got me wired?" she asked by way of greeting.  
  
"Don't go in the loft, Sara," he said, ignoring her sarcasm.  
  
"Uh ... too late," she said. "I'm already in the door."  
  
"Get out," he said urgently. "Someone's inside."  
  
"I had to turn off the alarm," she said. "And the Blade's not worked up. Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes," he said, and pulled the van into the heavy evening traffic. "Get out, now."  
  
"Hi, Matthew," Sara said suddenly. "I don't remember inviting you over for a visit."  
  
"I'm on my way," Ian said, and pulled into traffic.  
  
*****  
  
She was pretending not to be afraid. Matthew knew better, though. She was. She had to be. Like a rabbit, she stood perfectly still, her eyes seeing only the threat in front of her. Slowly, she closed her cell phone and put in the pocket of her jacket.  
  
Talking to that stupid puppy. He'd known, so maybe not so stupid. But still a little whimpering dog, begging for her approval. Submitting. Doing everything but pissing himself to show how much he was her creature.  
  
Disgusting.  
  
"What does your master want now?" she asked, sighing. "I've had a long day, and, honestly, I really don't feel like dealing with you right now. So deliver your message and get out."   
  
A pretty show of courage, but a show nonetheless.  
  
"I have no master," he told her.  
  
"Really?" She sounded surprised. "I bet Kenny-boy would be interested to hear that." She pulled her cell phone out. "Let's call him, shall we?"  
  
*****  
  
Almost faster than Sara could see, he was on her, slapping the phone out of her hand. It bounced on the floor, shattering open, electrical components scattering everywhere. Matthew stood in front of her, panting heavily. She'd seen Ian move that fast without even missing a breath; maybe this one was defective.  
  
"Well, then, what do you want?" she asked, making herself sound as annoyed as possible. "Something tells me you didn't just stop by for a little chat."  
  
He took a step closer to her, looking her directly in the eyes. It was disconcerting, seeing Ian's eyes with someone else behind them. With Matthew looking out of them, they weren't nearly such a pretty color.  
  
"Your little toy doesn't seem to work against me," Matthew said, nodding slightly toward the bracelet on her wrist.  
  
His low voice echoing off the walls of the alley, "Your little toy doesn't seem to work against me."  
  
Viciousness she could never have imagined: "Your little toy doesn't seem to work against me."  
  
"Is that some sort of stock phrase on a training tape somewhere?" she asked, yanking the sleeve of her jacket over the Witchblade. "Listed under 'How to Annoy the Bladewielder'? You guys need to get some original material."  
  
Fury flashed across Matthew's face and Sara forced herself to stand her ground. This one was even crazier than the other Ian she'd encountered in the other lifetime. Maybe taunting wasn't the best tack to take.  
  
"I want you," he said, taking another step toward her.  
  
"Really?" Sara said, trying not to sound as disgusted as she felt. "That's ... uh ... interesting," she finished lamely.  
  
"I want your blood in my hair," he said, his voice lowering.  
  
"Ew," Sara said involuntarily.  
  
With a growl, Matthew grabbed her biceps and jerked her toward him. With a quick move, she brought up a knee. He stopped, but only after her knee was pressed firmly against his groin. He leaned forward and snuffled in her loose hair before bringing his lips against her ear.  
  
"But I can't have you yet," he whispered, digging his fingers hard into her arm. "But I will." He pressed himself forward and groaned deep in his throat. "I'll have your blood everywhere."  
  
*****  
  
Ian jerked the van over to the side of the road. Sara was moving. Toward the Vorschlag building. The cell phone bug had died with the phone, but not before Ian realized that this other one, this Matthew, was not fully faithful to Kenneth Irons. Ian had thought that he might be happy about this eventuality, but he wasn't. He was now as clueless as he might be with a totally unknown foe.  
  
He turned the van toward the headquarters of his former master. He doubted that Sara was going there willingly. He could feel her uncertainty. He could also hear his name, over and over, echoing across their connection to each other. She probably wasn't even conscious of it, but he was a call he was hopeless to resist.  
  
They converged on the Vorschlag building at the same time. Holding back, Ian watched Matthew hold Sara to his side like a lover, one hand low on her hip, the other on her upper arm. His face was buried in her hair, and Ian's acute hearing could hear the sibilance of the others' whispers, though he couldn't make out the words. Only Ian's link to Sara let him know that she was going involuntarily. Why she didn't resist, he didn't know.   
  
It wasn't like her not to fight.  
  
*****  
  
"Back so soon, Sara?" Irons said as his servant entered, Sara held tightly in his grip.  
  
"This freak of yours is totally whacked, you know that, right?" she asked, trying to jerk away from Matthew. "Do you have any idea of what he's been saying to me? I mean, I've got a pretty good imagination, but he ..."  
  
Sara trailed off, and Irons could see that, in spite of her show of bravado, she was scared. He could see Matthew tighten his hands on her body and draw her close to him, like a dog protecting a toy.  
  
"Matthew, let her go," he commanded. After a long moment, the younger man did as he was told. Sara took several rapid steps forward, and Matthew moved to follow. "Matthew!" Irons barked, and the other stopped short.  
  
Sara turned so she could see them both.  
  
"I'm not kidding," Sara said, her eyes darting toward him from Matthew, then back again. "He's nuts. Ian's perfectly well-adjusted, comparatively. He's a little screwed up, I'll grant you, but he's never told me he wants to ..." she trailed off with a grimace. "Let's just say that he's never promised to perform certain rather imaginative acts with my corpse."  
  
Irons watched Sara closely. She was lying, he was sure of it. Matthew was totally under his control. He was a little more independent than Ian had been, but that wasn't completely negative. Matthew had retrieved Sara, after all.  
  
"Really, Sara," Irons said, leaning back in his chair. "If you're frightened, just say so."  
  
"I'm not frightened," Sara said, and Irons heard complete honesty in her voice. "I'm terrified."  
  
*****  
  
The Witchblade urged her to kill Matthew; its call was nearly irresistible. It took all of her willpower to not give in to the desire to simply skewer him on the Blade. She could feel what it would be like to thrust the Blade deep into his gut, to see his face contort in pain.  
  
It would feel exactly like what Matthew promised to do to her.  
  
But she didn't want to be like him. She didn't want to have to kill him. To kill him might be a mercy, like putting down a mad dog, but she still didn't want to have to do it. Matthew was a sadistic bastard, but she just didn't want to see any more death, even his.  
  
Whatever Irons had created, it wasn't human, at least not by her standards. Ian might be a killer, but he didn't do it for thrills. The only reason she had gone along with Matthew was because she couldn't believe that even Irons would willingly unleash such a creature. She needed to see his face.  
  
And now she had. He had no idea what he had done. Blinded by his lust for the Witchblade, he couldn't even see the walking horror he had created.  
  
"You said you didn't want me hurt when you could prevent it," she said, shifting her eyes to watch Matthew. "Call off your dog and you can."  
  
Irons laughed indulgently. Loathing flashed across Matthew's face, and Sara put her right arm up across her chest, though she still fought the urgings of the Blade.  
  
"Matthew is a good boy," Irons said. "So much better than Ian. Oh, speak of the devil ..."  
  
"Sara," Ian's low voice came from the door of the office.  
  
"Well, the gang's all here," Sara said lightly, not taking her eyes from Matthew. "I guess the party can start now."  
  
She finally stopped fighting it and let the Witchblade flow up over her arm. As she punched forward, Matthew fluidly stepped out of the way. Whirling around, she backhanded him across the face, and he flopped to the floor directly in front of Ian. Without waiting, she advanced on Irons, extending the Blade to its full length.  
  
"I let you live last time because Ian asked me to," she told him. "I don't think he cares so much right now."  
  
Sara heard the sound of a gun being cocked and knew that Ian had Matthew covered. She again focused her attention on the man at the end of her Blade.  
  
"I can give you anything you want, Sara," he said, trying, but failing, to sound unconcerned. "Money, jewels, power. Just imagine what we could accomplish together. Imagine the power."  
  
The will of the Witchblade surged over her, and Sara struggled to control it. She heard Ian gasp behind her and for a moment, her vision doubled, seeing through his eyes as well. With a wrench of her arm, she pulled the Blade away from Irons.  
  
"Power?" she said harshly. "Power is knowing what you have to do."   
  
With a yell, she whirled around and swung the Witchblade at the man on the ground. With a sickening crunch, Matthew's head separated from his body and spun across the floor.  
  
"Even when you don't want to have to do it," she finished bitterly. She turned back toward Irons. "I'll warn you one more time: leave us alone." She let the Witchblade retract and turned away. "Come on, Ian, let's go. I can't stand the sight of him."  
  
*****

Sara toyed with the Witchblade as she sat in the meeting. Dante had insisted she attend, even though she had tried to call in sick. She had only managed about three hours of sleep last night, and all of it full of nightmares. Over and over she saw Matthew's head roll across the floor of Irons' office, bumping into the wall and resting there, his hazel eyes still open and staring.  
  
She'd woken to find Ian asleep on the floor at the side of her bed, his katana cradled in his arms. He hadn't woken easily, and Sara knew his sleep had been no more restful than hers. Whatever had happened, when she had momentarily seen through his eyes, seemed, to have changed something between them. Maybe not for Ian, but Sara now could feel him as it seemed he had always been able to feel her. How or why, she didn't know, but right now, she could tell that he was on his way to pick her up. She was out of here as soon as this pointless meeting was over.  
  
Suddenly, Jake jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow, jolting her out of her thoughts.  
  
"Pezzini!" Captain Dante was saying, and from his tone, it wasn't the first time he'd said her name. "Your jewelry is pretty, Detective, but do you think you could pay attention for just a few minutes."  
  
Sara tried to seem apologetic. If she argued, it would only make the meeting longer.  
  
"Sorry, Captain," she said. "I didn't sleep well last night."  
  
"I'll bet you didn't," he said, and Sara could have sworn he sounded smug. "As I was saying, last night, thanks to intel provided by our department, the FBI killed one of their most wanted criminals. The political assassin, Ian Nottingham, will no longer be hitting anybody."  
  
Dante held up a picture that Sara recognized as being taken in Irons' office. Matthew's head was centered in the frame.  
  
"Who do we have to thank?" Dante's pal Orlinsky asked, after the laughter died down.  
  
"Someone in Special Operations, so I can't say," Dante said, but Sara barely heard him.  
  
The Witchblade tingled on her wrist.  
_  
"What could you possibly have that I want?" Irons asked.  
  
"Your man, Ian Nottingham," Jake said. "I know where you can find him."  
_  
Sara forced herself not to look at Jake. She wasn't sure she could. The meeting seemed to be ending, but she wasn't really paying attention -- fury was her focus at the moment. She stood up and pushed her way out of the room.  
  
"Sara!" Jake called after her. She could hear him jogging up after her. "Sara, wait."  
  
"I just want to go home, Jake," she said, stopping just inside the door. She kept her eyes on the floor so she didn't have to look at his face. "I'm ... I'm not feeling too good."  
  
"I know you and Nottingham were ... friends," he said, his voice low. "If you want some company ..."  
  
He trailed off, and it took all of Sara's strength not to deck him. Pushing past him, she went out the precinct doors to the gray van that was waiting there. She pulled open the doors and climbed in, then turned to look at Jake.  
  
He stood at the top of the steps, his eyes wide as he stared past her. Sara turned to Ian.  
  
"Come on," she said. "Let's go home."

*****

  
Fin.  
  
  
For now...

--Jessica  



End file.
